Life Unexpected
by MM624
Summary: AU Glee family! Follow the crazy Schuester clan as they love, laugh, cry, yell, and annoy the hell out of each other. I know I spelt Schuester wrong. ALSO, I DO NOT OWN GLEE, BUT OMG I WISH. This story is Family/Humor/DRAMA.
1. INTRO

Some character traits apply, some don't. I wanted to be true enough to Glee, but still have my own thing going on.

INTRO.

Shelby POV

If you had told me 26 years ago that this would be my life, I probably would have called the cops on you. Not that I'm unhappy, but this isn't exactly what I envisioned for myself when I moved from Lima, Ohio to New York City when I was barely eighteen. See, I thought I was going to be the next Barbra Streisand. I thought that all I needed to do was go to New York and I would be cast in all these great shows and my life would be perfect. Well, Shelby meet reality, reality, Shelby. Needless to say, getting a job was much harder than I thought it was going to be. But by some stroke of luck, after about two years of living in squalor, and no I'm not being dramatic, a struggling actor's life is not exactly filled with riches, I was cast in the role of a lifetime. I got to play Eponine on Broadway. I was ecstatic. I was even more ecstatic when I saw who was going to be playing Marius. His name was Will Shuester. He was cute and funny, but most of all, he was so talented. And to top it all off, he was from Lima, too. It's really not too surprising that we didn't know each other, considering kids from Carmel, where I went, and McKinley, where he went, didn't really cross paths much. After the first rehearsal, we were both head over heels for each other. Of course, neither of us admitted it for months, until opening night, when the curtain fell and his just leaned over and kissed me. It was a great kiss: passionate, sweet, and unexpected. We continued our run on Broadway for a year and a half after that, in total bliss. We were young, in love, and living the dream. Nothing held us back. Until I got pregnant. Then we wizened up, got married and bought four-bedroom house on Long Island.

On August 14, 1989, Finn Hudson Shuester came into the world, a little dazed, a little sleepy, but just happy to be here. He's still exactly the same. Just a happy-go-lucky kind of guy. He may not be top of his class, but he's got a huge heart and a good head on his shoulders. Of course, sometimes it pays to be a little clued in. There are times when I wonder how he gets himself dressed in the morning. But Finn is so smart, the smartest person I know, with people. He is so attuned to other's needs and feelings. It obviously comes from being the oldest of eight. He's always breaking up fights, trying to sort of the situation. He's such a natural born leader. I don't really know where we would be without Finn. He keeps the peace.

Then, on September 2, 1991, Noah William was born. Weighing a whopping 9 pounds 12 ounces, he was by far my biggest baby. He was always a momma's boy, though, even though he acts all tough. He was Puck from the time he was two. Finn had taken up hockey, and Noah was just fascinated by the whole sport. He loved it. He's been playing ever since. I think he liked it at first because Finn was doing it. He loved anything Finn did. He used to follow him around all day, copying whatever he was doing. Finn got pretty annoyed, actually. I thought it was adorable. Those two are incredibly close. They're the oldest, so I think being around the longest and going through all the other births and adoptions really bonded them. Puck only gets called Noah when he's in trouble, or someone just wants to annoy him. Which happens quite a lot in our house. A lot.

We had never really planned on adoption, but I guess you could say that fate sort of laid a hand in our lives. Our friends had adopted a baby girl from China and Will was adamant that adopting was something he wanted to do, so we went for it. The process felt like it took forever, but finally, a week after Puck had turned two, we got a call that said our baby was waiting for us. We traveled to China on October 8, 1993, and officially adopted our son, Michael Tai Yang on October 15. He was only three months old. We wanted to keep his Chinese name, so we moved it to the middle name spot. Sometimes we call him Tai. I remember being so afraid that it would be different, that maybe I wouldn't love him the way I loved Puck and Finn, but I couldn't have been more wrong. When you adopt a child, it's like they were yours in the first place, you know? Like they were always meant for you. Mike is a little shy; he's always been that way. I remember when he was two; he would only talk to me, Will, Puck or Finn. Literally no one else. We all had to translate for him. That kid can dance like nobody's business. Will taught him from a young age, and he just really picked it up.

We loved our boys, but both of us, especially Will, really wanted a little girl. We thought about it, about trying again, but decided that we wanted to adopt again. We loved Mike so much, and were so excited. People thought we were crazy for wanting to add fourth child to the mix when Mike was only a year old, but we did it anyway. Instead of China, this time we looked into South America. We eventually decided on El Salvador. We figured it would take a while to actually get a child, so by then our boys would be a little older and things would be easier. Again, Shelby, meet reality. On August 18, 1994, Will and I boarded a plane to El Salvador with a five year old, a two year old, and a fourteen-month old. Yeah, I don't recommend that. But in all honesty, it was so worth it, because one week later, we boarded another plane with our two-month-old baby girl, Santana Maria, named for Carlos Santana, obviously. What can I say about Santana? Well, she is definitely a handful. She's always been sassy and tough. I think it comes from being the only girl in a house of wild and crazy boys for the first few years of her life. Sometimes, she makes me want to pull my hair out, but other times she makes me so damn proud I could cry. She's had Will wrapped around her little finger from the moment he saw her. She can still do no wrong in his eyes. Most of the time it's sweet, but sometimes I feel like I'm the bad cop. But she's my girl. She takes a while to warm up to people, but once you're in, she'll love you forever.

Will thought we were way done after Santana; we had our boys, we had our girl. But I wanted more. I felt like 'Hey, we're already out numbered, what's one more?' and I really wanted to give Santana a sister. I'm very close to my sister, Sherry (I know, I know, Shelby and Sherry, my parents were perfectionists). I just wanted her to have that experience. So I convinced Will to give it another try. I mean, honestly, the guy is a total softie (especially when it comes to his babies) so I didn't have a whole lot of convincing to do. Well, we got a bit more than we bargained for when we welcomed Samuel Evan and Quinn Elizabeth into our crazy home on December 12, 1996. All Will and I could say for a while was 'Oh my God, there's two, there's two!' It's funny; they're the two in our family who look the most alike, blonde hair, big eyes, same face shape. Really, they're both gorgeous. I mean, I think all of my kids are stunning, because they are, but Sam and Quinn are very pretty.

When I was pregnant with the twins, I had no idea of the bond that they would share. Sometimes it's like they share the same mind. They know what the other feels without them having to say it. But don't get me wrong, they're about as opposite as possible. Sam is my sensitive guy. He was always the one that would come in late at night while all the other kids were sleeping and cuddle up to me on the couch while Will and I were watching a movie. He didn't say anything, just sat there with us. With so many other kids in the house, I think he really just wanted us to himself. I think all of my kids are pretty close and protective of one another, but Sam is the one that will come running if any of his brothers and sisters need him.

Now we're at Quinn. Oh, Quinnie. That girl is a force to be reckoned with. When she was born, she was pretty underweight because she was a twin, and had some serious health problems. There was a time when Will and I weren't sure she would make it. But Quinn is strong. She is strong and smart and passionate. But she's also caring and kind. However, if Quinn doesn't like what you're doing, if she thinks you're being rude or out of line, you better watch out. She will cut you down, that girl. She's always had that in her. Thankfully, due to years of revoked privileges, many stern talking-tos, and countless trips to the naughty corner, she's learned how to control herself. She's still Quinn, though. And I love it.

This time Will and I _really_ thought we were done, but a second honeymoon to Hawaii and a bottle of red wine changed our plans. On October 16, 1998, Kurt Marius was born. Kurt, because that was Will's grandfather's name, and Marius because we were _sure_ this would be our last baby and we wanted to pay tribute to the show that brought us together with at least one of our children. Kurt is so special. He is the wittiest person I know, hands down. He has impeccable fashion sense, too. Kurt's always been different, that's just him. I admire him so much. He's always known who he is; nobody's ever had to tell him. My other kids always tell me I baby him, but I can't help it. He's my baby. Sometimes, though, I worry about him. I worry that people won't be able to look beyond the superficial stuff to see the fantastic human being that he is. Will and I have always tried to teach our children that being different is okay. In fact, it's a good thing. Some of them got it more than others, but as a whole, they are all very accepting. Unfortunately, I know most of the world is not. He gets teased at school; called horrible names. It breaks my heart every time I see him hurting because of someone else's ignorance. Kurt is still trying to figure things out. No, he is not "out" yet, and maybe he isn't even gay, but regardless, I want him to know that he never has to give us any explanation for who he is. We all love him, every single one of us, the way he was made.

At this point, Will and I were basically just trying to stay celibate. Really. For some reason, he was so stubborn when I asked him to get a vasectomy. His response was, "it's a guy thing." Well, the whole celibacy thing lasted for about two weeks. We tried everything. I was on birth control, which I took every single day. Except one. Of course, nine months later, on April 14, 2001, the one and only Rachel Barbra was born. Needless to say, Will got the surgery. I don't even know how to begin with Rachel. She's loud, she's demanding, she's dramatic, energetic, precocious, and a little bit psychotic. She's also hilarious, ambitious, intelligent, and ridiculously talented. She's me. From her big brown eyes to her long, dark hair, she's the spitting image of me. It's funny; the only two of my kids who look like me are Rachel and Puck. Everyone else looks like some family member from Will's side. Light hair, blue or green eyes, freckles. None of my kids really look much alike at all, actually. I think it's good. They're all so completely different personality-wise that it makes sense. Rachel is truly one in a million. Yes, she can be incredibly difficult to deal with considering her unwavering flair for the dramatic, but you can't help but admire her passion. There is just no stopping that girl. She is a performer through and through. She wears her emotions on her sleeve, and she's not afraid of standing out. When she loves someone, they know it, and she wants to give them everything. She adores all her siblings, especially her sisters because they're older and cooler. This sounds cheesy, I know, but from the moment Rachel was born, I knew she was a star. I knew she would do great things. So far, she hasn't proven me wrong.

All of my kids are extraordinarily talented. I know all parents probably think this, but I know I'm right. I mean, they were raised by Will and me; some of our talent was bound to make it through. And it did, to all of them, even Mike and Santana, who don't biologically share our genes. I genuinely believe that God gave us those two kids knowing what family they would be brought up in. Also, the fact that all our kids grew up with Family Friday night dance parties, piano lessons, guitar classes, and youth theatre was not lost on Will and me. I think the biggest thing in our family is singing. I can guarantee you that if you walk into my house sometime between 6 o'clock am to 11:59 p.m., someone will be singing, and they will sound awesome. Now, it might sound as if we pushed our kids into the arts. Not true. I think part of it is the fact that they grew up around people who love to perform. At first we tried to dissuade them from that career path, knowing the pain and rejection they could face. But they all just gravitated toward some form of the arts, whether it be dancing, acting, singing, painting, writing, whatever. They are all very creative people. When Will and I realized this, we had no choice but to just let go. They were going to be who they were, no matter what activities we put them in. That's not to say that out kids only like the arts. Definitely not. Most of them play one or more sports and are involved in school clubs. They're great kids, and I know I may be biased, but I truly believe that they can change this world for the better.


	2. Memories

Will POV

"Rachel, stop touching me!"

"I'm not touching you! Don't hit me! Ow!"

Ah, so nice to be home after a ten-hour day. I walked into the living room of our spacious Long Island home to find Rachel and Santana going at it.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa! What's going on here?" I asked.

"The Dwarf keeps poking me and she's being super annoying. Like usual," she sneered at Rachel, who stuck her tongue out at her.

"No I'm not! Mommy said I could watch Funny Girl on this TV because the guy hasn't come to fix the one in the basement, but Santana is being a bitch."

"Rachel Barbra, what did you just say?" I asked, knowing full well the word that had just come out of my ten year old's mouth.

"What? Bitch?" she asked, looking at me with total innocence. Though I couldn't be quite sure, she was a very good actress.

"Yes. That's a very bad word. I don't want you saying that, especially not to your sister!"

"But Santana told me it means someone who hogs the TV. That's what she called Quinn last night," she said, looking pretty confused. Santana was almost out of the room when I caught her.

"Santana Maria. Really?" I said, more exasperated than angry.

"Okay, dad, you're going a little overboard on the whole middle name thing today," she said, raising her eyebrows. I swear; that girl's attitude never fails to impress me. Even when she knows she's in trouble, she can't help dishing it out. It's like some sort of awful sass reflex.

"Why don't you go take a walk and calm yourself down, Santana. Wait until mom gets home," I said, knowing the only way to solve this problem was to get one of them out of the house. And threaten them with mom.

"But dad, it's like 30 degrees out!" she protested.

"Better take a coat, then."

SANTANA POV

Dad always makes us take a walk to "calm ourselves down." I mean, I love him to death, but he's such a softie. Ugh, not looking forward to mom finding out what I taught Rachel. It was pretty hilarious, though. All of the sudden, a car pulled up beside me, and just as I was about to whip out my can of bear mace, the window rolled down and I saw who was inside it.

"Finny!" I said, running over to the car.

"Hey, what are you doing? Did you get in trouble?" he asked, smiling hopefully. He knew I was one badass bitch.

"Yeah… don't teach Rachel any new words…"

"Oh my God. Get in the car," he said. He was cracking up. Finn always knew how to just go with things.

"What are you doing home? I thought you were at school for another week," I said, hopping into his green truck.

"Yeah, my classes were cancelled, so I came early. Is everyone home?" he asked. It was a very valid question. I mean, with ten people in this family, people are always coming and going. I like the chaos, it's comforting.

"Um, well obviously Rachel is, and dad just got home. Mom's at the studio. Puck and Mike are playing football somewhere, I don't know. Sam and Quinn are working on some project for school. And I have no idea what Kurt is doing. But I think there may be a small chance that tonight all the Schuesters will be in the same house," I said. It wasn't that we never spent time together, because we did. A lot of time. But Puck and Finn were both at school, so there were only six of us. God, listen to me. Only six.

"Awesome," Finn said as we pulled in the driveway.

FINN POV

I love coming home. I love the smell of home-cooked food and laundry detergent. I even love having to share my old room with my brother. I just love seeing everyone, you know? I feel like all empty or something when they're not with me. I especially love the craziness. Someone is always yelling, crying, or laughing, no matter what time of day it is.

"Finn, buddy what are you doing home?" dad said as he pulled me in for a hug and kissed me on the cheek. He still does that. But it's okay because it's my dad and he's awesome.

"Yeah, got out early," I said. Quinn came downstairs then. I've always looked out for all of my siblings, but especially my sisters. I mean, they're definitely three of the most independent, strong, and psychotic people I know, but they're still my sisters. I don't worry _as much_ about Santana because she is seriously tough and can definitely take care of herself, but Quinn is different. She's only fifteen, and she thinks she knows everything. She's got a lot to figure out.

SHELBY POV

"Guys, I'm home. And I brought food!" I yelled as I pushed open the front door, bracing myself for the onslaught of hungry children. But no one came. It was so weird. Usually, if somebody even _mentions_ food in this house, you watch your fingers or you may just end up without them. I stepped down into the basement, where the kids usually hang out. It's huge; there's a foosball table, air hockey, Wii, giant flat screen and an art area for Quinn and Kurt.

"Hey guys," I said, setting down the bags of food on the table.

"Hi mom," Finn said, standing up to hug me. He was so tall. We talked for a while until I noticed what everyone was doing. There, on the giant TV that was now fixed (thank God), were home videos of the kids as babies.

"Oh my gosh," I said quietly, sitting down. "That's our trip to El Salvador." I gasped, "Look how _tiny _you all are!"

"Is she going to start crying?" Rachel whispered to Quinn.

"No, I said," even though I already was.

Will put his arm around me and in a horrid mock southern voice said, "We done raised some strong chilluns, darlin'." Everyone laughed, then gagged when he kissed me. We loved doing that. It just never got old messing with the kids.

"Oh look at Santana! There's your foster mom. She was so sweet," I said.

"It's so weird that I _lived _there. I mean, look at it. I lived in poverty for the first two months of my life," she said. But she wasn't saying it in a joking manner. She seemed genuinely moved by the whole scene. I think, as she's gotten older, she's started really thinking about her roots, where she came from.

The scene changed and suddenly we were at the hospital and I was HUGE. It was obviously when the twins were born.

"Whoa. Mom's huge," Sam said, his eyes widening. I gave him a playful slap upside the head.

"Hey, I was carrying _you_, buddy."

"Aw, look at little baby Sammy," Mike said, trying to annoy his brother.

And then Quinn came on the screen, in her little incubator, wires covering her frail body. I really did start to tear up then.

"I was really small," she said, looking at me.

"That was the scariest time in my life," Will murmured.

We watched those videos for hours. We saw Kurt modeling his Halloween Costume when he was four: Sleeping Beauty, his choice. Then Rachel, two years old, standing on the kitchen table and belting out 'Don't Rain On My Parade.' I found myself really missing those days. Will and I went to bed that night, and I couldn't stop thinking about it.

"Honey?" I asked.

"Yeah?" he answered, looking up from his book.

"I miss it. I miss the kids being little."

"Me too. They were all so damn cute."

"I just worry that we didn't appreciate it enough while we were in it, you know?" I asked.

"I know, but honestly Shelby, I think we did the best we could. At one point, we had eight kids from newborn to 12 years old living under one roof," he smiled.

"Yeah," I smiled at the memory of those years. Sometimes it feels like they were kind of a blur, but other times it's as clear as if it was just yesterday. "I just… I just want them to still _need _me. I don't want them to grow up and move away and never speak to us or their siblings again."

Will put his book down and look me straight in the eye, "Shelby. Did you see them tonight? The way they sat together, practically on top of one another? They loved each other more than anything. Puck was texting me all day today because he's so lonely and jealous of all of us. And trust me, they will always need us. I'm positive." Then he kissed me.


	3. The Joys of Parenting

**Hello, Gleeks! So this is my first story, and so far the reviews have been awesome! Keep 'em coming Also, sorry these chapters seem to be so short. I'll try to write longer ones in the future. I got the idea from a fic. I read, but can't remember the name of, sorry. Anyway, it was awesome, so I decided to do my own famiGLEEa story (I 3 Cory Monteith). I would love feedback and criticism and whatever else you want to throw at me (except mean thing, please). ENJOY!**

WILL POV

It was finally summer. And even though the weather is hot and sticky and, quite frankly, just disgusting, it's always been my favorite season.

"Hey, baby," I said as I sauntered into the kitchen after having a meeting with the NYU arts department about next year's class. I gave my wife a peck on the lips. God, she really was beautiful. "I don't know how I landed such a hot lady!" I said, going in for another kiss. This one was longer, deeper, and way better.

"Whoa there cowboy, where did _that_ come from?" she asked.

"I'm still allowed to kiss my wife, right?" I asked teasingly.

"Will Schuester, sometimes I swear you're still eighteen years old."

I shrugged.

"Where are the crazies?" I stole a strawberry out of a bowl that Shelby was obviously using to make pie or something.

She slapped my hand away.

"In the pool. Can you go make sure they haven't killed each other by now? Tell Kurt to put on more sunscreen, though I doubt he forgot. He's obsessive about his skin. Also, make sure Puck doesn't throw Rachel in anymore… I'm not going to the emergency room again. At least not tonight. Oh," she added, looking up at me, a glint in her eye. "And tell Santana she needs to come talk to us _immediately_ about that little sneaking-out incident last night," she said, using her no nonsense tone of voice. You were not going to be having a good day when Shelby was angry. I was mad, obviously, but I could control it a little better. Honestly, I wouldn't want to be Santana right now.

I strolled out into the backyard to find the kids playing marco polo.

"Hey guys," I called. "Mom wants me to relay some messages. One: Kurt put on more sunscreen, bud. You don't want wrinkles."

"Look at my face, dad. Do you honestly think I've ever forgotten to put on sunscreen?" he asked.

"Okay, number two: Puck, no more throwing Rachel into the pool," I said, just as he had gathered her into his arms and was about to toss her. They both sighed.

"And," I smiled to myself, "Number three, Santana, I think mom wants us to a word with you about your little escapade last night. Immediately."

She blanched, her eyes wide.

"I _told_ you it was a bad idea, dumbass," Sam said.

"Shut up, mega mouth," she shot back.

"Whoa, hey. Ten year old right over there," I said, pointing to Rachel.

"Ten and a half!"

SHELBY POV

I heard the door open and looked up to see Santana nervously walk in, Will trailing behind her.

"Dad said you wanted to talk," she mumbled, looking at her feet.

"Yes. Why don't you sit down?" I said, gesturing to the table that I was sitting at. Will sat next to me.

"So. Let's just get to the point, shall we? I know you snuck out last night, Santana."

"What? How?" she asked, incredulous. She didn't seem to care that she was blatantly confessing.

"Mama knows, honey. Mama sees everything," I said. "This is the third time in a month we've caught you. It's just getting ridiculous."

"This is completely unacceptable, Santana. What if you had gotten hurt? How would we know?" Will said, his voice stern. We are both usually on the same page with discipline, so we make good team.

"Ugh, you guys are making way to big a deal of this! It was fine!" she said, throwing her hands in the air.

"I assume you went to a party. I'm going to also take a leap and say that you consumed alcohol, _illegally_. What if the police showed up? Huh? What if you had gotten arrested, Santana? Where would we be?" I asked, my voice rising. Sometimes she just didn't get it.

"Yeah, but none of that stuff happened! You guys always think the worst things are going to happen, and they don't," she said.

"Okay, how about this. You have four younger siblings. They look up to you," Will said.

She rolled her eyes.

"I'm serious. Don't you think they're going to want to do whatever they see you doing?" Will continued.

"I don't know," she murmured, staring at the wall.

"What if Quinn decided to sneak out? What if she went to a party and got drunk and decided to drive home? Or what if Rachel thought it would be a good idea to leave the house at three in the morning, without telling anyone? You know how easy it would be for her to get hurt?"

"Yes," she whispered, understanding finally registering on her face.

This time, I spoke, "I don't care if you like it or not, but those kids look up to you. Every time you roll your eyes or curse at someone or hurl insults, they see that, and they remember it."

"Punishment?" she asked, looking resigned to the fact that she would most certainly be reprimanded.

"Grounded for a month. No phone. No computer. And no more hanging our with that Becca girl. I don't like her," I said. "And look, I now you're a teenager, and you want to act like one. That's fine and great. I've had teenagers before. But, girl you better save all your teenage conversations and thoughts for your older siblings, because right now, I don't think Kurt and Rachel need to hear some of the things you want to talk about."

"Okay, can I go back to the pool now? It's the "summer of family," right?" she asked raising her eyebrows.

"One more thing," Will said. "Apology?"

She huffed, "I'm sorry. I'll try to _control myself_ more."

"Okay," I said. "Go out there and bitch about how unreasonable we are."

She turned and walked to the door.

"We love you," we both called, smiling.

There was a bang as the door slammed back into place.

"I love parenting," Will said.


	4. Hello Again

**So the first three chapters were kind of to really establish the Schuesters. Just warning everyone, it's going to be a lot more intense from here on out. I have ideas PS Review!**

Mike POV

Summer was so awesome. Not only did Puck come home, but I got to spend the entire day yesterday hanging out in the pool with my siblings. I know, I know, it's not exactly 'cool' or whatever. But I don't really care. They're kind of my best friends. Also, watching Santana get her ass handed to her by mom and dad is never _not _fantastic.

"I'm going to the store, does anyone need anything?" I called entering the family room.

"Oh, can I go with you? I need more chapstick," Sam said.

"So many insults, so little time," Santana deadpanned.

Sam just glared at her.

"I want ice cream. Mint chocolate chip ice cream. Not Dryers. Haagen-Dazs. Make _sure _it's Haagen-Dazs," Rachel said, looking me straight in the eyes.

"Get some more muscle milk, Finn drank all of mine," Puck said.

"Okay, well it's not like mom bought it specifically _for you_," Finn retorted.

"Alright. Ice cream and muscle milk. Anything else?"

"Can you get some tampons? I'm all out," Quinn asked.

All the guys groaned.

"Seriously? Ew."

"That's nasty."

"I don't want to think about my little sister using… _those_."

"Quinn, not okay. Not. Okay."

"What's a tampon?" Rachel asked.

"That's kind of a girl thing. Um… I'm going to let you pick those out. Or mom. Or Santana or Rachel or anyone else," I said. I would do a lot of things for Quinn, but this was just not one of them.

"Whatever, you guys are so immature," she said as she rolled her eyes. "Rachel and Santana, let's go do 'girl things' somewhere else."

As they walked away, I heard Rachel say, "But wait, I still don't know what a tampon is."

"Can I drive?" Sam asked.

"No way. You don't even have your permit!" I said.

"Fine. Dude, seriously? You're listening to Britney Spears?" he asked when the CD came on. "How do you even own this?" Sam laughed as we pulled out of the driveway.

"She is an icon! Her music is _made_ for dancing," I said in disbelief.

"Whatever you say, man," he said.

"Little brother, you have a lot to learn about the importance of music."

We argued our points back and forth for a few minutes until something happened. We had just stopped at a red light at an intersection about five minutes away from our house. It turned green, so obviously I kept driving. I wish I waited.

Out of nowhere, a huge truck comes barreling through the intersection and smashes head on, in to us. I heard the metal on metal screech. It was over before I even knew what was happening. I opened my eyes and looked around. I was upside down, but I couldn't really be sure because I was so disoriented. My first thought was Sam.

"Sam? Sam, are you okay?" I said. No response. I tried to turn my head to look at him, but it hurt too much. Everything hurt too much, my chest especially. But I didn't care. I needed to hear Sam's voice.

"SAM! ANSWER ME!" I shouted. "Please," I was crying now, completely hysterical.

I suddenly remembered that my phone was in my pocket. It was almost impossible to get it free because of the pain and the way I was now sitting. But I did.

"911, what is your emergency?" a female voice said on the other end.

"My brother and I just got in a car accident. He's only fifteen! Please, help us," I sobbed into the phone.

"Okay, I'll send help, but I need you to calm down, alright? What's your name?"

"Mike Schuester," I answered, sniffling, trying not to hyperventilate.

"Okay Mike, do you want me to stay on the phone with you?" she asked.

Then I remembered.

"No, no I have to call my mom," I said.

"Help will be there in less than ten minutes. Try to stay calm," she said.

I hung up and dialed the number I knew so well by heart.

SHELBY POV

I was walking out of the post office when my phone rang. It's the one call that no mother ever wants to get.

"Hello?"

"Mommy," I heard Mike say. He was crying. Instantly, I went into mother mode. He wasn't okay.

"Mike? Honey, what's wrong?" I asked. But he just cried and mumbled. "Mike, I need you to talk to me," I said, fumbling with my keys.

"We got in an accident. We were driving and a guy hit us and I'm so scared and I don't know what to do," he said.

"It's okay, honey. You're going to be okay. Who is with you, Mike," I said, trying to be stern so he would focus. I couldn't let myself crumble yet.

"Just Sam. He's not waking up, mom. I was yelling and yelling and he didn't answer me! I don't—I can't," he was gasping for air.

"Mike, calm down. I'm coming. Tell me where you are," I said, starting my car.

"At the intersection in front of Pizza Hut," he said feebly, still crying.

I was so close.

"I'll be there in two minutes, okay baby? I'm coming," I said.

Thankfully I wasn't arrested for speeding, because if I was, I'd have a lot to say to that cop. I made it in under two minutes. But when I pulled up, I didn't want to believe it. I didn't want to believe that that mangled, crushed and flipped car actually held my babies. I parked and ran to them. There were people surrounding the area, but I pushed past them. I couldn't even reach the passenger side. It was too destroyed.

A police officer tried to get me to back off. "Those are my kids!" I yelled.

"Mom?" Mike said.

I knelt down on the shattered glass and peered into the car. I couldn't stop myself, I cried.

"You're okay, baby. It's okay. It'll be okay, I promise," I said, holding his hand.

"Sam," he choked out.

"I know, they're going to get him out after you, okay? I need you to do whatever they tell you. Do you understand me, Mike?" I said, tears streaming down my face. I couldn't allow myself to think of Sam yet. My mind had put up a wall against all the evil thoughts that threatened to overtake me.

"Okay," he squeaked.

They had to use the Jaws of Life to free Mike. He was in so much pain; it just about killed me. By just looking at him, I could tell his leg was broken.

"Mike, my name is Dan. Can you tell me what hurts?" a paramedic asked.

"My leg, and—and my chest. My head hurts, too," he said.

Dan did a quick examination while a team of about fifteen people were getting ready to free Sam.

"From what I can tell, his leg and a few of his ribs are broken. He may have a concussion. We'll be able to see more when we get to the hospital," Dan said. "Let's load him up!"

"Okay," was all I could muster. "Honey, I need to stay with Sam, alright? But I'm going to call dad and I'll be there as soon as I can," I said, a sob escaping my throat. He may have just turned eighteen, but he was my baby. And I did not like to leave my babies when they needed me. But, Sam needed me more.

He just nodded his head.

"I love you," I told him.

"Love you, too," he said.

I ran back over to the car, well, what used to be the car. They had pried open almost enough to get Sam out. I tried to resist the urge to look in, to see my child in God knows what kind of state, but I knew I had to.

His whole body was at an awkward angle. Everything seemed to be bending the wrong way. I could only see the right side of him, and even then, only until his legs, but I knew it was bad… so much worse than Mike. Copious amounts of blood were pooling on the asphalt. He had a gaping wound on his pale forehead. His beautiful blonde hair was matted and stuck to his face, sticky with blood. I wanted more than anything to look away, to not have to see my son like this. But part of being a parent is doing things you don't want to do. I reached out to touch his hand.

"I'm right here, baby," I kept saying over and over until they had to physically pull me away from him so that they could get him out.

Once he was out and they tore off his shirt, I could see the full extent of his injuries. Both of his legs were laying at sickening angles, his torso already covered in large, purple blotches and deep cuts. This wasn't happening. Not to Sam. He was the gentle one, the one that would do anything for anybody. He was the honor roll student, homecoming prince, sensitive singer-songwriter. He was so good. This was so bad.

I stood next to him while they pumped oxygen into him on the gurney. They loaded him into the ambulance. No one had to ask if I was coming.

"Sammy, mommy's here," I said, a new batch of tears spilling down my cheeks. I held his hand tight in mine.

He started to rouse. His eyes opened slightly, but when he saw where he was, they widened in panic. They warned me that if he woke up, he would be scared and try to fight. He might try to pull out all of the tubes they had in him. But he didn't. He just looked at me with pure terror. It was like all of the energy had left him, like he was giving up.

"Hi, buddy. You're okay, Sam. You were in an accident and now we're going to the hospital," I said, as calm as I could. It was all coming back to him, I could tell. He tried to speak. "Don't try to talk. Mike is already at the hospital, he's going to be fine."

Just then, his eyes started to drift closed, and a bunch of high-pitched alarms let me know it was not a good thing.

"What's happening?" I asked the paramedic. He didn't seem to hear me. He was talking to the other one.

"BP and heart rate are dropping," one said.

"Too much blood loss," the other one said. "How close are we?" She asked the driver?

"Pulling in," he answered.

"Sam! Sammy, look at me," I said, grabbing the sides of his face. "Look at me! You stay awake! Do you hear me? Don't let go, Sam! Just hold on! You stay with _me_," I yelled.

He was trying so hard.


	5. Reality

**So, this chapter is pretty heavy. I'm still trying to keep the humor there, because that's what the Schuesters are all about! I've been getting a lot of comments about seeing certain characters, but I want to give each character their own way to shine. So, don't worry! Also, the reviews are AMAZING. Keep them coming, they make me want to write more. Also, I don't have a beta, and most of these chapters are written in the wee hours of the morning, so sorry for any spelling and/or grammatical errors that you may see. Enjoy!**

WILL POV

"I'm just _saying_, I don't think a skirt that short is appropriate for a fifteen year old. I'm sure mom would agree with me," I said to a very disgruntled-looking Quinn.

Some of the kids and I were hanging out in the living room, watching a Giants game, when she came to tell me she was going to the mall. Now, I by no means consider myself a strict father, but I know how to lay down the law. And that tiny little square of fabric my daughter was about to prance out of the house in was not in the rulebook.

"Ugh! You always say that. Fifteen is _not_ that young. I'm not Rachel! I'm going to be a sophomore," she said.

"Hey! What's so bad about being Rachel?" Rachel yelled, her face scrunched in anger.

"You're a spoiled little brat who gets whatever she wants, and you're always in everyone's business. Oh, and did I mention you're super annoying?" Quinn replied.

"Shut up, Quinn! You're annoying!" Rachel shouted.

"Hey! Knock it off," I said. "Quinn, you're not wearing the skirt," I said resolutely.

"I bet you would let Santana wear it. She can do whatever she wants!" she yelled.

"That's not true and you know it," I said. And it wasn't. Quinn was just being her normal, hot-headed self.

"Yes it is. She's the oldest girl, so she gets the most privileges, and Rachel's the youngest so she gets babied. I'm always the one that everybody forgets exists! Not only do I have two sisters to compete with, but I also have a twin! Do you know how stressful it is trying to _survive_ in this family?" she said.

"Oh my God, Quinn, stop being so dramatic," Puck said, eyes on the game.

"Fuck you!" She yelled to him as she stormed off. What was with our kids these days? It's not like Shelby and I curse… often. Okay, maybe sometimes. That doesn't mean they need to.

"Whoa! Quinn Elizabeth Schuester, come back here," I bellowed, standing up from the couch. I heard a chorus of 'ooooo's behind me.

"You three," I said, pointing to Rachel, Finn, and Puck. "Shut it."

Quinn trudged back into the room, arms crossed.

"What?" she asked, petulantly, crossing her arms.

"Excuse me? You want to go back and try that again?" I asked.

"Sorry," she said.

"The cursing, totally out of line. In fact, that whole show right there was incredibly disrespectful. If you really feel that way, talk to me," I said.

"Okay," she mumbled, looking down.

"You know you're grounded," I said. "Why don't you watch the game with us? Maybe calm down a little. Or you could take a walk. Your choice," I said. Shelby and I both liked to force family time. It was both effective and amusing.

"Fine," she muttered as she reluctantly went to sit on the couch.

"I'm not trying to ruin your life, Quinnie," I said. "By the way, does anyone know where mom went? I thought she was just going to the post office," I said. Then, right on cue, my phone rang. It was Shelby.

"Hey baby," I said, making the kids cringe.

"Will," she answered, sounding like she had been, or still was, crying.

"What's wrong?" I asked. The TV was muted and the kids got quiet.

"I'm at the hospital. Mike and Sam got in an accident," she said, holding back a sob.

I felt dizzy. I slowly lowered myself onto a chair.

"Are—are they okay?" I asked, my voice shaky. I didn't want the other kids to see me cry, but I knew I couldn't move.

"Mike is okay. They said he has some broken bones and a mild concussion, but he'll be fine," she said.

"But what about Sam?" I asked. At the mention of his name, Quinn perked up.

"Dad, what happened?" she asked in a tight, controlled voice. She did that when she was scared. I had to ignore her.

"He—they don't know," she said, letting the sobs break free. "They think he may have brain damage. He head was bleeding so much… I was there, I saw it. It was so bad, Will."

I was crying now. Not just a tear or two, but really crying.

"We're coming," I told her. Then I hung up the phone and looked at my kids.

"Daddy," Rachel whispered, her eyes full of tears. "What's wrong? Why are you crying?"

"Puck, go get Santana and Kurt," I said. I would have, but I was momentarily immobile.

The three of them came back looking terrified.

"Dad, what's going on? Where's mom? Did something happen to her?" Kurt asked, eyes scanning the room frantically.

"Mom's fine," I said. "She's at the hospital with Mike and Sam."

"Wait, why?" Finn asked.

"They got in a car accident," I said, looking at all of their scared faces. "Mike's going to be okay. He got hurt pretty badly, but he's conscious."

"What about Sam?" Quinn murmured, like she was unable to even think of the possibilities. Those two had a connection like none I'd ever seen before.

I took a deep breath, trying to collect myself.

"They don't know," I squeaked. I cleared my throat. "They said there's a possibility he could have brain damage," I said, my voice trembling.

"No," Quinn said, shaking her head. It was more disbelief than anger. There were tears all over now.

"We need to get to the hospital. Let's go," I said. I was trailing behind, trying to grab everything we may need, when Santana came back to me.

"The last thing I said to him was about how big his stupid lips are," she sobbed. "What if he's not okay? What if I can't say sorry?"

I enveloped her in a hug and tried to comfort her.

"Shh, baby he knows you were joking. He knows you love him," I said, rubbing soothing circles into her back. "He'll be okay," I said, willing it to be true.

QUINN POV

This was not happening. This was not happening. This was _not _happening.

But it was.

Sam was hurt. He was hurt so, so bad, and all I could do was sit in the waiting room and cry. He was suffering, and there was absolutely nothing I could do. It really sucked. What if he wasn't okay? What if he _did_ have brain damage and he was never the same? What if he didn't make it? No. No, I couldn't let myself think that. My mind wouldn't even allow myself to process the thought. Sam is my best friend. I know no one in our family really understands our relationship, and how could they? They've never had a twin. They've never spent their entire lives, from _conception_, with the same person. They can't understand the fact that when he's in pain, I'm in pain, and vice versa. Sam gets me. He knows me better than anyone else. He knows how I'm feeling even before I say it. I know exactly what he's thinking without having to ask. He's an extension of me, my other half. And now I have all of these people telling me I may have to spend the rest of my life without him? This was not the plan.

And _of course_ I was beside myself with worry for Mike, but he was awake. He was going to be okay, thank God. Mike and I are pretty close. I know I say that about all my brothers and sisters, but it's in different ways. Mike is quiet, but when he says something, you listen. He's so insanely smart. I've always been in awe of my brother. I remember when I was little, Mike would be practicing his dance routine in the basement, and I just sat there and watched him for hours. I was his biggest fan. I still think I am.

"Quinnie?" I heard Rachel ask. It was like hearing someone talk to you while you're underwater. I was aware, but everything was sort of fuzzy.

"Yeah?" I sighed, stroking her hair. She was so little, small for her age. Sometimes it felt like she was so fragile I might break her.

"Is Sam going to die?" she murmured shakily, a single tear streaming down her cheek.

I shook my head.

"No. He's not going to die," I said, putting on my best everything's-gonna-be-okay act.

"How do you know?" she asked. Her eyes were wide with innocence.

"Because, we're twins. I just know this stuff," I said, plastering on a smile.

She just nodded her head. A sudden rush of guilt washed over me. I was so mean to her today.

"Rachel, I'm sorry for what I said to you earlier," I told her. "I was just… I don't know, being mean," I finished lamely.

The truth was, I had been feeling on edge that whole day. Maybe it had something to do with Sam, I don't know.

"It's okay," she shrugged. God, ten year-olds were so forgiving. Another wave of guilt washed over me. I knew she would forgive anything I did. She adored me. I was her big sister, the one who did her makeup and let her try on my shoes when I was in a good mood. And I loved Rachel, so, so much, but sitting there in that waiting room really made me think. I didn't appreciate her enough. She was so little and so impressionable right now. I didn't want her to think I hated her.

"I love you. You know that right?" I asked.

"Yeah, I know," she said.

Then a doctor came out to talk to us. Relief washed over me as I realized it was Barry Davison, our family friend. In all the craziness, I had forgotten he worked here.

"Hey guys," he said, a sad smile on his face. Barry's known my parents forever. Barry was in 'Wicked' with them on Broadway, before he decided he wanted to go to medical school. He and his wife Sharon had four kids, and we were all kind of raised together. I mean, I guess they're more family than friends.

He hugged my parents.

"How's Mike?" dad asked. "And don't sugarcoat anything, Barry."

"I won't. Let's sit down, though, alright? We got a lot to talk about," he said, gesturing to the chairs.

Everybody sat instantly, preparing for what was clearly going to be bad news.

He's okay. He's in a hell of a lot of pain right now, and will be for weeks. The break in his leg is pretty bad. He broke his femur, so it's going to take a long time to heal. He may need to be in a wheelchair for a while, but we won't know until it he starts the healing process," he said.

"A wheelchair? He can still dance, right?" mom asked. She was trying not to cry.

"Not for a while, but I don't think we're looking at anything long-term," Barry said softly.

She nodded.

"He fractured two ribs, but thankfully those will be easy to repair. Again, it's just going to be painful. He did have a mild concussion, but we did some x-rays and everything showed that his skull is not fractured. Other than that, he's just got some superficial stuff, like cuts and bruises. There was one cut that was pretty deep on his stomach that we stitched up, but it's okay now," he said.

"Good. That's good, right? He's going to be okay?" dad asked.

"Yes," Barry smiled slightly.

"Thank God. When can we see him?" mom asked.

"Right now, they're prepping him for surgery. We're going to do what's called Intramedullary Fixation. Basically, we insert a rod into the femur, then secure it with screws. It'll help him move earlier, which I think he'll want. Now, I just want to warn you, recovery will take about four months. I'm not going to lie, he has a pretty severe break, but thankfully, it was clean," he said. God, all this information was making me dizzy. I mean, I know I should have cared, but I just wanted to see my brothers.

"How long until we can see him, though?" mom asked.

"The surgery takes about three hours, and I'll come get you when he's done," Barry said.

"What about Sam?" Finn piped up. We had all been totally silent, to afraid to make a sound.

Barry looked toward my parents as if to say, 'can I tell the kids?' Mom nodded, urging him ahead. My parents always tried to include us in important stuff like this. They said they didn't want us to "grow up being afraid of life." It was pretty cool of them.

"I do have good news. So far all the tests we've done seem to show that he doesn't have any severe brain damage. We still have more to do, but it seems to be positive on that point," he said, his face slightly softening.

"You said 'severe.' Does that mean he still has brain damage?" dad asked.

"Well, yes. Honestly, though, that's to be expected from the trauma he's been through. He's in for a long, hard recovery, but from what I can see right now, he should be able to be home by October. We noticed that the damage was mostly done to the Primary Motor Cortex, which controls his motor skills. He's going to have some trouble with some of his fine motor skills, like writing or playing his instruments. He may also have trouble walking at first. We won't know until we get there, but we don't think his injuries are severe enough to have caused permanent damage. He just needs to relearn these things."

"He can't play his guitar? That'll kill him," dad said. It was true. Sam rarely went anywhere without his guitar. I knew that now was the time he would need it the most.

"I know. But honestly, Will, I don't know how he survived. I saw the car. Most patients I get who've been in accidents like that don't make it through the night. Sam is a lucky kid," Barry said.

"So, Mike's in surgery, and Sam is coming out soon, right?" mom asked.

"Yes. He should be done in about two hours, and I promise I'll let you know," he said.

Barry got up and hugged all of us. He said he had to go make sure Sam's surgery was going okay, then he was going to help with Mike's.

"I think you guys should go home," mom said. She looked so tired, but not the kind of tired where if she slept, she would be okay. It was more like she was just so emotionally drained she could barely keep her eyes open. My mom was always on top of her game, so seeing her like this was weird. I didn't like it.

"I agree. It's going to be a while guys, so mom and I will stay here tonight," dad said. "Why don't you guys get some takeout and rent some movies? It's been a hard day," he said.

"Yeah, don't worry. Finn and I got it," Puck said.

"I'm not going home," I said.

"Quinn, honey, I know you're wor—"

"I'm not leaving him," I said resolutely.

Mom sighed. "Quinn, you need to go home, get something to eat, relax. We'll call you if anything happens," she said.

"Mom," I whispered, tears running down my face. "He needs me."

She deliberated for a second.

"Okay," she finally said.


	6. My Brother

**So this is the last chapter centered around the accident. I really don't like this chapter… like at all. I have some other ideas that I can't wait to write! I don't own anything you may recognize here. REVIEW REVIEW REVIEW! Also, this is super fluffy and lovey, just a warning!**

SAM POV

**Eight days after surgery.**

_Why is it so bright in here? _Even with my eyes closed, I could sense the light streaming through._ Holy shit I'm in the hospital. What happened?_

I can't really remember too much from that day because everything gets kind of fuzzy. I think it's from all the pain meds they had me on. All I know is that when I woke up, even though my eyes were still closed, I heard like fifty different voices around me. I had no idea who some of them were, but there were others that I definitely recognized.

I tuned in and out.

"He's waking up, he's waking up! Mommy, look! His brainwaves are being picked up on the monitor!" I smiled to myself. How did Rachel even know what brainwaves were? She's so weird.

Then there was:

"Wait, everybody stop yelling! What if it, like, I don't know, scares him and he goes back into a coma?"

"Finn, that's the most ridiculous thing I've heard since I found out Oprah was making Season 25 her farewell season." Poor Kurt, he really was devastated… about Oprah.

Just over two weeks after the surgery and I still couldn't open my eyes or move, but I could hear, and they knew that. I was also breathing on my own. I knew my mom was in my room with me whenever she wasn't with Mike, who was still at the hospital, or running home to take a shower. Dad was there a lot, too, but he had to take care of the kids and stuff because mom basically refused to leave the hospital. It felt so weird to hear them having private conversations with me right there. It was also kind of funny because mom almost always got her way.

The doctors kept telling me about my surgery and what was happening. They said it went well and that they were able to stop the bleeding, and the damage wasn't even as bad as they thought. They also said it would be hard to play my guitar for a while, but I just had to practice. That wasn't so great. I wasn't really scared I guess, just frustrated. I knew what I wanted to say, but I couldn't say it. Barry kept telling me I would be able to really wake up soon.

But this day, I woke up and I felt different. Quinn came to see me in the morning, and everyone else left. Well, I think she made them leave. She didn't like having an audience when she visited, which was every day. I know this was probably the hardest for her. Quinn and I had barely spent more than a week apart since birth. We were kind of like Yin and Yang. We complimented each other. She was strong, stubborn, ambitious, and sometimes high-strung (I would never tell her that. Ever.), while I was quiet, thoughtful, easy-going, and sometimes a pushover. Anyway, Quinn didn't like to show too much emotion. I mean, she would yell at you or bitch you out any time, but you'll rarely catch her crying or spilling her innermost feelings to you. I mean, _I've_ seen that, but nobody else really has. Quinn and I talk to each other about stuff I would never, ever, under any circumstance, tell my brothers. And, I mean, sometimes I don't really want to hear her talk about all the guys she's freaking out over, but I listen (and silently vow to do a thorough background check on all of them). She's also one of the few people allowed to call me 'Fam,' which is what I called myself until I was six. I had a speech impediment, okay?

"Hey Sammy," she said as she sat down on the chair next to my bed. "Well, the Schuester household was a particular brand of insane this morning. Rachel was being bratty and mouthed off to dad or something, and he cancelled all her lessons for this week. Like, everything: voice, jazz, improv, ballet, and that creepy child modeling class she begged mom to sign her up for. She threw the craziest, most dramatic shit-fit I have ever witnessed. I swear I heard a window break. It was intense, even for her. We all just hid in our rooms and once in a while someone would shout 'Shut up!' down the stairs. Well, she did not like that. Shocker. After the screaming and crying had subsided, she decided to wander around the house singing "On My Own" for twenty-two minutes straight, then asked us if we 'understood the message she was trying to impart on us through song.' Yeah, we got it."

If I could have laughed out loud right then, I would have. The image of my tiny sister walking through the halls singing one of the most depressing songs ever written was fantastic, just perfect. She was dedicated, that was for sure. It's one of the many things I love and admire about her. But yeah, she's also really fucking annoying too, so…

"I wish you could come home," she murmured. "I miss you," she took my hand.

It was a reflex, one I had so badly wanted to use for sixteen days. I squeezed her hand lightly, just barely. I didn't even mean to. She noticed.

I heard a sharp intake of breath.

"Sam, did you just do that?" she asked breathlessly. "Oh my God." She was crying now, I could tell.

"Sam, if you did that on purpose, squeeze my hand twice," she said, her voice taking on an excited urgency.

Okay, maybe this was it. Maybe I was coming back. I concentrated so hard I thought my hand would explode, but I did it. I squeezed once, then twice. It was easier than last time. It was like that first grip was the spark. I felt so trapped, but now, now it was like someone handed me a key. I could feel the tears running down my cheeks and tried to stop them. I mean, I was super excited that I might actually be able to _move_ again, but I was over the crying. Ugh.

"Sam," Quinn sobbed. She was kissing cheeks, my forehead, my hands. I knew I had to try to go farther. I could do this. I focused all my energy on my heavy eyelids. At first, I thought it wasn't going to work, but then slowly but surely, slivers of light filled my vision until I could see everything. I looked over at my sister. She was a sobbing mess of tears, and apparently my efforts to stop my tears didn't really work since everything looked like it was covered by a watery film.

"Oh my God, Sam! You're back," she said, well she kind of gurgled it. Whatever. "I'm going to go get everyone, okay?" she asked, dashing out of the room, almost knocking over a tray of metal instruments. For someone so graceful, she was really unhinged. I just laid there, my face crumpled, crying. I didn't try to talk yet. I didn't want to push my luck. Soon Quinn came bounding back into the room followed by seven other familiar faces, all in varying degrees of crying.

"Sammy, baby, it's okay, you're okay," Mom sobbed as she wrapped her arms around me and kissed me. I think she said it more to herself than to me.

"Hey buddy, I missed you," Dad bawled, making me cry harder. This might sound cheesy or whatever, but my dad is my hero. He is the nicest, most loving guy I've ever known. Everyone says I'm a lot like him. I hope so.

MIKE POV

"So I can leave the bed? I mean, I can actually go places? Like to see my brother?" I asked, eyes wide, a huge smile on my face.

"Yup. Why don't you wheel yourself down the hall?" Barry suggested.

"Does this mean he'll be discharged?" I heard mom ask excitedly, but I was already speeding over the glossy tile. The last time I saw Sam, we were both upside down inside a crumpled piece of metal. He didn't look so good. I can't even begin to explain how guilty I had been feeling for the past three weeks. I turned into his room, a little bit scared of what I might find.

His face lit up when he saw me.

I just sat there for a second, taking in the scene. He was okay. He was awake.

"Hey Tai," he said when he saw me.

I smiled at my nickname and wheeled over to his bed and embraced him in a way that is only acceptable if you're brothers and no one else is around. I had a right to, though. I thought I killed him.

I didn't even realize I was crying until he said, "Oh my God, I have never cried so much in my life."

"Me either," I laughed, wiping my eyes.

"I can't even tell you how happy I am to see you," he said.

"I don't … I thought you died, man," I mumbled, shivering as I remembered the accident.

He just nodded his head and put a hand on my back.

"Well, you don't look to good either," he grinned after a moment.

It was true. My entire chest was a nice, colorful combination of blue, black, purple, and even a little yellow. And in the cast, my left leg was the size of a tree trunk. Awesome.

"Yeah. They said I can't dance for… they don't even know how long. I guess until my leg heals," I looked down.

"It's okay. We'll do this together. You'll dance again, and they said I can re teach my brain and stuff. Barry said I'm doing so much better than they thought. I'll play guitar again," he smiled. It was like someone had punched me in the gut. I slowly realized that nobody had really told me anything about his condition. I guess they thought it would slow down my recovery or something. They knew how bad I felt. Sam saw my face fall.

"Hey, it's fine. You'll be dancing in like six months," he said.

"Sam, I am so sorry," I mumbled, looking down.

"Hey, whoa, what are you talking about?" he asked. "You have _nothing_ to apologize for," he said, sounding almost mad.

I looked up at him, "_I_ was driving._ I _was the one who was in control._ I_ messed up." I was angry now, too. I was angry with myself mostly, but also to everyone else who kept telling me how it wasn't my fault, how I shouldn't be blaming myself. Well, guess what? It _was_ my fault.

"Mike. You know that guy was drunk. You know you did nothing wrong or illegal or anything," he stared down at me.

"I just… you're my little brother. I should be able to protect you. I shouldn't be able to let stuff like this happen!" I yelled, pointing to the bed.

Mom and dad came into the room. They had been standing at the door, listening. The kids were at the fair today, so no one else was here. Mom looked like she was crying.

Dad grabbed my face, "Michael Tai Yang Schuester, look at me. This," he gestured to Sam, "_was not your fault_."

I ripped my face from his grip.

"Damn it! Can everyone stop fucking saying that? Obviously, if it wasn't for me, we wouldn't be here right now, would we? I wouldn't have this giant cast on my leg, and Sam wouldn't be lying on a fucking hospital bed recovering from brain surgery!" I shouted, turning the chair around and heading for the door. Yes, I realized that the chair took a fair amount of drama away from my exit, but I didn't care.

"Mike," mom said, tears streaming down her face.

"No! Everyone just leave me alone!"

SAM POV

I convinced a nurse to get me a chair and wheeled myself down to Mike's room. I knew he would probably yell some more and curse, but I really didn't care. He thought this was his fault? It was the drunk driver of that damn truck, who had miraculously walked away with just a broken collarbone. Douche.

He was sitting in the corner, looking out the window. I pulled up next to him. I didn't say anything, because anything I said would probably just make him feel worse. So, I just put my hand on his back. We sat there like that for a while until he finally looked up and hugged me.

Yeah, we were going to be okay.


	7. Promises

**SO SO SO SORRY about the long wait. Okay, so I've been trying to infuse the drama with some humor. 'Cause that's how the Schuesters roll. Anyway, that was definitely the most dramatic thing to happen, so don't worry! And if I got some of the medical stuff wrong (timelines, etc) then I apologize. Now let's get going on chapter 7! I do not own Glee or anything you may recognize, unfortunately. REVIEW. Please and thank you :)**

**P.S. I will love you forever if you go read my one-shot "48 Hours." :)**

_**December**_

Rachel POV

"Ow, these hurt. How much longer do you have to use them?" I asked Mike. I was trying to walk on his crutches, but they were really tall and I was really small. I'm only ten, and the doctor says I'm small for my age, but daddy says I make up for it with my personality.

"Four more days," he said.

"How come you don't use them sometimes, though?" I asked. Mommy always got mad at him cause he walked around without his crutches, and she said he was going to have to go back to the hospital, but Mike said he didn't need them anymore and told her to stop freaking out, so he went to the doctor and they said he healed really well and he didn't need to use them that much longer. Then we got ice cream cake.

"I'm tired of them," he said.

"Hey guys," daddy said when he walked in the house.

"Hi daddy!" I shouted. I shout a lot. Puck always yells at me for it.

"Man, it is _freezing_ out there. Where is everyone?" he looked around like he was really confused. Finn looks like that a lot. He's not very smart. I'm _very_ smart, though. My teacher always asks me if I want to teach the class. I said yes once, but she got mad and called me a name. Mommy talked to the principal. She wasn't my teacher after that.

"Upstairs, basement, cheerleading," Mike said, turning on the TV. "Can I delete 'Funny Girl'? It's been on here for 478 days."

"No, you may not!" I yelled.

"Rachel, we own four copies," daddy said.

"Yes, but they're all in my bedroom. Well, what if there was a fire? What if I happened to be in the kitchen or in your office and the smoke is just too thick for my small frame to push through and no matter how many times you called me to come back, I didn't because I just cannot _live_ without Barbra? And then I passed out from smoke inhalation and—"

"Ugh, Rachel just shut up and I'll keep it," Mike said.

"Good. I'm going to find Kurt," I said, turning toward to basement.

Kurt was in the basement a lot. Mommy and daddy gave him all this cool design stuff for Christmas one year and now that's all he does sometimes. He made me my Halloween costume last month. I was a Tony award.

I walked down the stairs and saw Kurt sitting in the 'Style Section.' He called it that, not me. Then I saw he had _so_ much candy on the table next to him. Like, piles and piles of candy. I love candy so much.

"Kurt, can I have some of your Halloween candy?" I asked. I took some anyway.

But he looked up like didn't hear what I said, which was weird because Santana always tells me how loud I am.

"Oh, Rachel! Perfect. Come here, stand still," he said, wrapping me in hot pink velvet and pinning it.

"Okay," I said. I loved doing things with Kurt. Sometimes he was kind of mean, but it's okay because he says it's "sarcasm."

"So do you know who's playing Marius for the show?" he asked.

"Yeah, it's Jesse St. James. He's _so_ talented, Kurt. He can sing anything!" I told him.

"Oooo, sounds like someone has a little crush on her castmate?" he said. He did that thing where he raises one of his eyebrows. It's so hard.

"No, I don't! He's just a really good singer and actor," I said.

"Ha! You're totally blushing. This is adorable."

"No I'm not! Jesse and I are professionals, Kurt. We have a show to carry."

"Okay," he sang. "You know, I really don't understand how a bunch of ten year olds are going to put on one of the most difficult and intense shows ever created. You probably don't even understand half the stuff they're talking about."

I gave him that look where I squint my eyes and stare at him.

"I'm just _saying_, it seems like a pretty mature show for a children's theatre group to put on," he said.

"I think you've forgotten, dear brother, that this theatre company is rated number one in the United States of America! We are all incredibly dedicated performers. When I step on that stage, you can be sure that every single detail has been perfected and ready. Every button has been sewn, every microphone switched on, and every actor ready to bring you to your knees with a performance so beautiful, so _heartbreaking_, that you may be forced to leave the theatre for fear of disrupting the action with your loud sobs," I said.

He just stared at me.

"Don't just stare at me! Hurry up and finish! Mommy said she would take me to the toy store if I got an A on my math test, and I did! It was hard, though. I hate long division."

He stared at me some more. Then he said, "Rachel, I am not exaggerating when I say this, you are, without a doubt, _the_ strangest child to ever have walked this planet."

"Why?" I asked.

"I don't… I can't even… You're like a mix of Michelle Obama, Barbra Streisand, and some ten year old little girl that likes to tell everyone about her collection of playbills," he said, smiling in a way that daddy calls smirking.

"Oh," I said, looking at the ground.

"No no no no!" he said. "Rachel, you're different. You don't let people boss you around, you know what you want, and you know exactly who you are. You're Rachel Barbra Schuester. I mean, you may be one of the most obnoxious people I've ever met, but you're also one of the best," he tapped my nose.

I was smiling so big my cheeks hurt.

"I wish I was more like you," he said really quiet, just looking at the sewing machine.

"Why?" I asked him. "You're so cool, Kurt! You can do all this stuff that so many grown ups can't even do. You always make me the best clothes and you're funny and smart and everyone loves you."

"Not everyone, Rach," he sighed. He looked like he was gonna cry.

"What do you mean?" I asked.

"When you get older, you'll realize that not everyone wants to be your friend. In fact, sometimes people can be really mean," he said. I saw a tear fall down his face. I frowned.

"Why are they mean?" I asked.

"Because they don't like it when you're different. They want you to be just like everybody else," he said. He still wasn't looking at me.

"But Kurt, if you were just like everybody else, you wouldn't be a star," I said. It's true. Not everybody can be a star, because stars are special. Kurt was a star.

He put his head up to look at me.

"Rachel," he said. Now he was holding onto my arms and looking at my eyes. "Promise me that you will never, _ever_ let anybody tell you that it's wrong to be different. Promise me you will _never_ forget how special you are."

"Okay," I said quietly.

"Promise!" he said.

"I promise!" I said.

Then he hugged me and he was crying a lot. I don't know why, but he was very sad, so I just stayed there with him.


	8. The Most Wonderful Time of the Year

**So… I know I have been kind of absent. Sorry. Please don't eat me. This is short, but I feel like I had to post something. Your reviews are golden! Keep posting! **

Chapter 8: The Most Wonderful (Stressful? Hectic? Terrible?) Time of the Year

Shelby POV

"Okay, before we get started, I'm gonna explain the rules," I said, standing in front of our gigantic Christmas tree. Yes, I am Jewish, and so are our kids. But, Will was raised Catholic, and Christmas was always a huge tradition for him. He grew up doing it all: decorations, caroling, Santa; I wanted him to be able to share that with our kids.

Will tried to get everyone's attention, but when you force ten very different, very _opinionated_ people into one room for more than five minutes, the volume (and irritation) starts to rise. I mean, honestly, I'm constantly shocked at the level of noise those kids make. So I used my last resort method of whistling. I only whistle when I'm in a serious no-funny-business kind of mood. I must say, I have come to really perfect it in the last twenty or so years. "Alright, are we all listening? Cause I don't want to repeat myself. Everyone will pick a name out of the hat. Whoever you get, no matter who it is, you buy a gift for them. A real gift, not something you just found in your closet. Okay?"

"Mom, we do this every year," Puck said.

"Yeah, I really don't think Secret Santa is a difficult concept to grasp," Quinn said.

"Even for Finn," Kurt chimed in.

"Hey!" Finn shouted.

"Guys!" I yelled, trying to rein them in. "The reason I go over the rules every year is because _some of you_," I looked at Puck and Santana, "seem to forget them."

"Well I'm sorry that Sam didn't like the awesome vintage t-shirt I got him last year," Puck said.

"Pretty sure you stole it off of some homeless guy because it smelled like pee and beef jerky," Sam muttered.

"In my defense, I would have gotten Rachel something better if you hadn't grounded me the week everyone went Christmas shopping," Santana said, raising one of her eyebrows at me.

"In _my_ defense, I wouldn't have had to ground you if you hadn't decided to skip school on the day of your Spanish final," I told her.

"Alright, let's just do this before the shit really hits the fan here, cause I'm pretty sure that's where we're headed," Finn said.

"Okay, youngest to oldest. Rach, you're up," Will said, holding out the hat.

The tiny girl pranced up to the hat and pulled out a red, folded card.

"Mike!" she exclaimed, looking at her brother with a wide smile on her face. I think Rachel would have been happy with anyone, but she seriously idolized Mike because of his dance skills.

Mike high fived her when she sat down.

"Okay, Kurt," Will said.

He gingerly stuck his hand into the crimson hat to pull out a name.

"Ooo, I got Finn," he said, raising his eyebrows.

"Yes!" Finn punched a fist in the air. It was common knowledge that Kurt always gave the best gifts.

Next up was Quinn.

She read her card. "Santana," she sang, smiling at her sister.

Then it was Sam's turn.

"Kurt," he announced. "Well, I'm definitely not getting you clothes or anything, because that's way to risky," he laughed.

"That's a smart decision," he replied.

Then came Santana.

She waltzed up to Will and picked out a card.

"Quinn!" she squealed. They did their secret handshake that I will never understand. They tried to teach me once, but it just ended in a few bruises and a lot of embarrassment.

Mike took his turn and picked out a bright green card.

"Hey, I got Puck," he smiled.

Then Puck went up.

"Oh, man. I got Rachel," he said, a mock frown on his face. Then he looked up and shot his little sister a smile. She beamed back.

Finally, it was Finn's turn.

"Well I guess that leaves my buddy, Sam," he stated.

"So everybody knows who they have, and we're all clear on the rules, right?" Will asked.

He was met with an unenthusiastic chorus of "_Yes_, dad." And "We _know_, okay?"

But really, those kids never seem to retain any information. I can't even remember how many times I've asked one of the them to take out the trash or do the dishes or wash the dog, only to come home and be met by an overflowing trash can, sink full of dirty dishes, and a very smelly, disgusting dog.

Will POV

"Will, come here for a sec," Shelby called from the bedroom.

"Hold on," I said, spitting toothpaste into the sink before laying down in bed. "What's up, baby cakes?" I asked, sporting a cheeky smile.

"Oh my God, you're so weird," she laughed, playfully hitting me in the chest. "But seriously though, we need to talk travel plans."

"Wait, I thought we had everything ready… what do we need to plan for?" I asked.

"The airline called and said they had overbooked the flight. Our seats aren't together," she said.

"So?" I asked, furrowing my brow.

"So I'm freaking out because most of my children will be spread out all over the plane! And God knows who they'll be sitting next to. Am I crazy?" she asked, sighing.

"You're not crazy. You're a mom," I smiled at her. I took her hand in mine and kissed it.

"A crazy mom. Maybe I'll call the airline tomorrow and see if they have another flight. But that's not a good idea because we have to make it to Lima in time for Aunt Sophie's party and—"

"Stop right there," I said, pointing a finger at her. "I see it. That look in your eyes. I see the stress building up. You need to relax a little, babe. The kids are older now, more mature. Besides, we fly to Lima every year. They can handle it."

Right as I said that, a loud scream followed by a huge 'boom!' came from downstairs. Then what sounded like a million angry voices filled the house. Shelby and I looked at each other and jumped out of bed. I could hear the yelling as I barreled down the stairs.

"What's wrong? Is everybody okay?" I asked when I entered the living room.

"Everyone's fine. Rachel just freaked out because there was a spider on the couch," Puck said.

"Well then why was everyone yelling?" I asked, exasperated.

"Because she tried to kill it and ended up hocking a shoe at my face!" Kurt wailed, glaring at his sister.

"I _said _I was sorry," she spit back.

"You definitely did not," he replied.

"Oh come on, Rachel never apologizes. She never does _anything_ wrong," Santana said, crossing her arms.

Quinn snickered.

"Oh my God, Santana. Stop trying to start fights! You make everything so much more complicated," Mike yelled. He threw his hands in the air and glared at his sister.

"I'm not try to 'start a fight,'" she said, using air quotes. "I was just stating a fact."

"Why can't we ever have any kind of conversation in this family without it turning into a bunch of arguments?" Finn stated.

"Guys!" I yelled. "Come on, it's almost Christmas. Can you please just try to not kill each other for a few weeks?" I asked.

"Sorry," they muttered.

"Alright. First of all, Kurt, are you okay?" I asked him.

"I'll live," he replied.

"Well I'm glad," I said.

"If you guys cannot learn to control yourselves like mature, young adults, you may find a little something under the tree come Christmas morning. And it won't be presents," Shelby told them. I took a step back because I could tell she was about to launch into a lecture.

"Sorry," they mumbled.

"And look at the mark on that wall! You better thank God tonight that you didn't break anything, or this would be a whole different story. I understand having fun, but this house is not some kind of free for all play place. You need to respect this space, alright? And also, what if dad was already asleep and you woke him up? You may be out of school, but he has a lot of work he still needs to get done. You know he works his ass every day so that Kurt can design his clothes, and Sam can take guitar lessons, and Santana and Quinn can fly across the country every other month for cheerleading competitions. You guys need to start respecting this house, your dad and me, and each other. Got it?" she asked, eyeing each of the kids, who all looked like a good mixture of terrified and guilty.

They nodded their heads.

"Good. Go to bed. I love you all," she said and then turned to walk out of the room.

She was so impressive.


End file.
